Hi there! This is my first story, so please be gentle! I have recently jumped aboard the McGonagall / Hooch ship, and I noticed there aren't a ton of stories featuring these lovely ladies . . . so here's my contribution! Femmeslash haters beware!
This story is set during Harry's 7th year. While the trio is off horcrux-hunting, the gang back at Hogwarts is fighting a battle of their own. This is my alternative Book 7 as told through the eyes of everyone's favorite Transfiguration teacher and flying instructor.
Thanks for reading!!
Tomorrow, or Next Year
Chapter 1
The midsummer sun sank below the ragged hillsides surrounding Hogsmeade village. The sky glowed with streaks of deep, golden pink, blanketing the valley in dusky twilight.
Xiomara Hooch sat on a stone wall in the front garden of her summer cottage, which was comfortably situated on a quiet lane just off the main village thoroughfare. She'd been sitting here for some time now, watching the sky go from pale blue, to pink, to a fading, bruised purple. Once upon a time, a summer evening like this would have meant a leisurely after-dinner flight over the hillsides and the Forbidden Forest, or a stroll down to The Three Broomsticks for a drink and a generous helping of village gossip. Xiomara ran her hand absently through her short, silvery hair. Ever since the death of Albus Dumbledore, just over a month ago, it seemed that the light and laughter had gone from the world.
Somewhere in the deepening twilight, an owl hooted. Xiomara shifted her seat slightly and leaned back to watch the dark silhouette of the night bird swoop past the cottage chimney, but continue on. Xiomara's body was tense from waiting, and as the daylight faded, she could feel the ever-present knot of worry in her stomach tightening. She checked her watch again, needlessly. Only five minutes had passed since she'd last noted the time.
A soft wind picked up as the last of the daylight faded. It rustled and whispered in the pines beyond the cottage, and Xiomara rubbed her arms. It had gotten chillier once the sun had set, but her mind was too preoccupied to really notice the drop in temperature. It's getting late now. Something's gone wrong. Xiomara sighed heavily, hopping down from her seat to pace beside the wall instead. The end of the lane was now obscured by deep shadows. Xiomara looked up at the rising moon, her heart pounding. I need to do something, I need to --
A loud pop just behind her made Xiomara stumble and whirl around.
There she was, looking the same as she always did . . . dark hair piled high in her signature bun, posture tall and elegant, her light summer cape fluttering about her in the night breeze. Xiomara was prepared to pounce on her, her heart soaring with relief at the sight of her – and then she saw that her wand was drawn.
"Who's there?" Minerva McGonagall called in her most commanding headmistress tone.
"Min, you know bloody well who it is!" Xiomara snapped at her, moving forward to open the front gate.
"For Merlin's sake, Xiomara – what are you doing out here?" Minerva snapped back, lowering her wand slightly.
"Waiting for you. Is that a hex-worthy offense now?" Xiomara replied, fiddling with the gate latch in the darkness. It swung open with a faint creak, but Minerva hesitated.
"What was the score of our final match against Ravenclaw during our 7th year?" she demanded suddenly. Xiomara rolled her eyes.
"240 to 90 . . . a four hour game with two timeouts and a dislocated elbow . . ."
"Yes, all right," Minerva said, giving Xiomara a quick little kiss before striding up the front walk, putting away her wand. "You just startled me, Xiomara . . . lurking around in the dark . . ."
"I was about to call out a bloody search party!" Xiomara cried, following after her. "Where on earth have you been?"
"The meeting ran late," Minerva replied over her shoulder as they both hurried into the house. Xiomara turned to quickly survey the dark front garden before closing the door behind them.
Though the cottage was used only as their summer residence, there was a cozy, well lived-in air about the place. The parlor walls were lined with bookshelves, the stacks of well-worn tomes interspersed here and there with Xiomara's various Quidditch trophies. A sofa and two comfortable, overstuffed armchairs sat in front of the hearth, while the side tables were filled with recent issues of Quidditch Monthly and Transfiguration Today.
Minerva and Xiomara passed through the living room to the kitchen, a cheery room with potted herbs lining the windowsill and brightly scrubbed pots and pans hanging from the low ceiling. Minerva dropped into a chair at the end of the table and reached down to unlace her boots.
"So . . . did they reach a decision?" Xiomara asked, sitting down across from her and waving her wand absently in the direction of the stove. A small flame erupted underneath the copper teakettle.
"No," Minerva sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, massaging her temples. "It's the same argument they've been having for weeks now. The Board of Governors is completely split on whether Hogwarts should reopen . . . Scrimgeour's delegation is, of course, pressuring them to keep the school operational. Tempers were running high today, though . . . I was quite sure Alexander O'Leary and Barnabus Jones were going to start dueling . . ."
"Well, they need to come to a decision soon, don't they?" Xiomara said, as two teacups slid across the table to them, accompanied by a steaming pot of chamomile tea. "You need to start sending out letters and all that business, right?"
Minerva nodded, pouring herself a cup of tea. "If there's to be a fall term this year, we are woefully behind in preparing for it . . . I don't know what to do about Muggle Studies, no one has heard from Charity in weeks . . ."
Xiomara was watching Minerva carefully in the warm light of the kitchen lamps.
"You look completely done in, Puss," she observed, leaning back in her own chair and tipping the front two legs off of the floor. "You need to take a Sleeping Draught and go to bed."
Minerva did not reply. She sat watching her teaspoon as it stirred her tea, and then took the cup lightly in her hands.
"Was there any news in the Prophet today?" she asked. Xiomara snorted.
"Same old swill," she said fiercely. "Still no mention of Mad Eye."
Minerva sat back and rubbed her eyes again.
"Are you hungry?" Xiomara asked. Minerva shook her head.
"A woman cannot exist on ginger newts alone, Min --"
Xiomara's scolding was cut short by a sudden flash of silver in the middle of the kitchen. Both women sat forward suddenly as the shimmering lynx spoke,
"Scrimgeour is dead. The Ministry has fallen."
Kingsley Shacklebolt's Patronus faded away, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. For several seconds, Xiomara and Minerva sat staring at each other.
"What --? How --?" Xiomara stammered, but Minerva was already on her feet, wand in hand.
"Minerva, what are you --?" Xiomara began.
There was a tremendous crash from the front hallway, as though the front door had been smashed in. Xiomara pulled her own wand from her pocket now, her heart pounding fast.
"Minerva McGonagall!" a voice boomed from the front hallway. There was the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps stomping through the parlor. Another crash followed . . . someone had overturned a side table.
"Xiomara, get back," Minerva hissed quietly. She was poised just to the left of the kitchen door, her wand raised, every muscle in her body taut and ready to pounce.
"What --?" Xiomara whispered, taking a few steps away from the kitchen door. Minerva did not answer her.
"Who's there?" she called out, in the same imperious tone she'd used with Xiomara in the front garden earlier. Xiomara barely had time to rush around to the other side of the table when the kitchen door was blasted open, and a jet of red light shot into the room.
"Stupify!" yelled a deep voice, as three broad men in dark cloaks burst into the room. Xiomara, ducking to avoid the spell, caught sight of Minerva brandishing her own wand and casting a silent hex at the nearest attacker, who fell heavily to the floor.
"Stupify!" Xiomara hollered, sending a stunning spell at the bearded man who was fast approaching on her right. He deflected her spell and fired another curse back at her. It sailed by her, missing by mere inches, and hit the front of the china cabinet behind her.
Over the crashing sound of breaking glass, Xiomara could hear Minerva shouting spells at the third man, who she'd forced back out into the parlor. Xiomara sent spell after spell flying, and her attacker returned them with equal measure. The hood from his cloak had slipped off now, and she could see his entire face. He was younger than his beard had intimated, and looked vaguely familiar . . .
"Flint!" she crowed suddenly, dodging a hex as she rushed around to the other side of the table, trying to corner him. "Marcus Flint! I know you!"
The sound of his name seemed to momentarily startle the man, and he hesitated for a second. Seeing her advantage, Xiomara attacked, hitting him straight on with a stunning spell that send him flying into the remains of the shattered china cabinet. He slid to the floor and lay still.
A heated battle was still underway in the parlor – she could hear Minerva's sharp voice shouting spell after spell, and the deep growl of her opponent as he returned them. Xiomara jumped at the sound of an almighty crash – one of the bookcases had fallen. She turned and rushed towards the parlor door, and suddenly –
Her foot caught on something . . . and she was yanked to the ground. She turned to pull herself up, swearing loudly –
There was a brilliant flash of red, and all went black.
* * *
"Mara . . . . Mara . . . open your eyes . . ."
The voice was coming from somewhere far away . . . but Xiomara did not want to open her eyes, not yet. Her head was pounding like it did after a long night at the pub. All she wanted to do now was sleep . . .
"Xiomara . . . please . . ."
She knew that voice. Minerva . . . the attack . . .
With great effort, Xiomara forced her eyes open. She was lying on the sofa in the parlor now. The room was in total chaos – the bookcase to the right of the fireplace had fallen over, smashing the side table and armchair in its path. The floor was littered with torn books and broken glass . . . one of the front windows had been broken . . .
Minerva was sitting on the floor beside the sofa – a very un-Minerva like thing to do. Her hair was down around her face. There was a thin trickle of blood coming from a gash above her left temple. Her glasses were missing, and her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying.
Xiomara groaned, attempting to sit up.
"Minerva . . . good god, what happened? Are you all right? Who --?"
"That," Minerva said, her voice trembling slightly, "was a call from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"What --?!" Xiomara gasped. "What in bloody hell --??"
"Potter," Minerva said softly. "They're looking for Potter. Obviously, they've decided to start with the homes of known Order members . . ."
"But . . .what . . . couldn't they have just searched the place?" Xiomara said savagely, rubbing her aching head. She was having trouble processing all of this. Minerva was staring across the room into the empty fireplace. She paused before speaking.
"I don't believe they expected to find the boy here . . . more likely, they were looking for information . . . and to intimidate . . ."
Xiomara stared at her. A prickly feeling was starting along the back of her neck, as though an icy cold hand had suddenly grabbed her.
"Minerva . . . how long was I unconscious?" she demanded. Minerva did not answer her. Xiomara's eyes travelled to the broken window, where the pale light of dawn was beginning to glow on the horizon.
"Min --" she started again, reaching out and taking Minerva's hand.
"I told them nothing . . . not that I have much to tell . . ." Minerva said, very softly. "It took a while for them to be convinced of that, however . . ." her voice was shaking, and she stopped, pressing her lips together hard.
"Shhhh . . ." Xiomara slid from her seat on the sofa to the floor beside her, gathering Minerva gently in her arms. She heard her give a little hiss of pain, but she did not try to pull away as Xiomara drew her close.
Minerva did not cry. Xiomara was grateful for that. She didn't know if she could handle Minerva going to pieces on top of everything else . . . she was still trying to digest everything that had happened in the past few hours. The Ministry had fallen to the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had the entire wizarding world at his command . . . and their last, best chance at salvation lie in a seventeen year old boy who was currently on the run.
And Minerva. Minerva was a part of all of this – a member of the Order, a well-known intimate of Dumbledore. She was a target. Xiomara's heart beat wildly as reality slowly dawned on her. If this is what could happen just hours after the Death Eaters took power . . . how long before they'd hauled her in and carted her off to Azkaban?
The sun rose slowly, gradually filling the room with soft, pink light. The two witches continued to sit on the parlor floor, breathing together, each lost in her own, terrible thoughts.
